


A Proposition

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [144]
Category: Smallville, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Pre-Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 06:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "author's choice, any rare pair, not sure how to respond to a particular text message."Evan sends Chloe a text message: "I have a proposition for you." It's not what she expected.





	

_I have a proposition for you._  
  
Chloe stared at the text message for a long moment. It was from Evan, the third photographer who’d attempted to fill Jimmy’s shoes (and so far seemed like the one most likely to stick around).  
  
Evan had shown up at the Daily Planet six months ago, camera in hand, and proved himself a skilled photographer, a helpful partner, and an open-minded sounding board. Whenever Chloe came to him with a story pitch that would have been featured on the Wall of Weird in The Torch office back at Smallville High, he’d set aside whatever he was doing, fix his bright blue gaze on her, and listen like what she was saying was completely rational.  
  
Evan was older than Chloe, had a wide range of experiences, described being a surveyor and a painter and one summer backpacking through Europe to see famous art museums. He’d proven handy on an investigation more than once, being able to do suspect sketches from eyewitness descriptions, and Chloe had gotten the scoop on some more prestigious publications by having those sketches to hand.  
  
He was damn good-looking, with his bright blue eyes and dimpled smiles and broad shoulders and muscular chest and -  
  
And he was friendly. Sweet. Brought Chloe home-baked goods (he was a damn good baker, too).  
  
Of course Chloe had a crush on him. He was perfect. He was so perfect she’d started praying he was secretly gay, because then of course she couldn’t have him, and the ache of wanting him would fade under the impossibility. Like it had with Clark. After years and years.  
  
But yesterday evening, during drinks after a particularly harrowing interview of a patient at Bellevue, something had changed. Evan had slid closer to her, lowered his voice, spoken to her intently of - his dreams. Flying. Seeing the stars. The chance to boldly go where no man or woman had gone before. Chloe had laughed, called him a Trekkie, and he’d ducked his head, blushing, and been so unfairly adorable, but then he’d lifted his head and looked her in the eye and asked if she’d ever dreamed of flying, of the stars.  
  
She’d been so sure it was the moment, that perfect moment from a rom-com where the leading man and leading lady locked gazes and kissed.  
  
Only there was no kiss.

There was Evan’s cell phone ringing, and him checking the caller ID and sighing, and saying he had to go deal with an emergency, and Chloe hadn’t heard from him all day. No one at the paper seemed all that concerned about Evan’s absence, and since all Chloe had to do was work up the notes from the interview, she didn’t have an urgent need to have him present.  
  
At least, no professional one.   
  
Chloe had called him on her lunch break, and again after she’d turned in her article, and again while she was sitting at home on her couch and ignoring the television.  
  
No response. Straight to voicemail every time. No responses to text messages, and also no indication that her text messages had been read.  
  
And then the text.  
  
 _Proposition,_ Evan had sent.   
  
Chloe wondered if he was going to finish what he’d started last night, telling her about his dreams, asking about her dreams, leaning in and looking at her with those bright blue eyes.  
  
She typed back, _What kind of proposition?_  
  
His response was immediate. _Answer your door._  
  
Chloe’s eyes went wide. She was off the couch and across her apartment like a shot, pulling open her front door.  
  
“Evan!”  
  
Only Evan wasn’t just Evan. He was wearing a fancy blue military uniform, blue. Wings. Air Force. Silver oak leaves on his shoulders. A bunch of medals and ribbons on his chest. E. Lorne, his nameplate read.  
  
Chloe hadn’t been General Lane’s niece forever and been oblivious to the military.  
  
Evan was a lieutenant-colonel. That required at least twenty-two years in service, at least three years in grade, and a master’s degree.  
  
“Chloe Sullivan,” he said, “how would you feel about doing an exclusive story, embedded with a top-secret elite military team?”  
  
She stared at him. “Evan?”  
  
“Can I come in?”  
  
She drifted aside, still staring at him. He looked good in that uniform. Moved in it like a natural.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“I’m sorry about the deception. You were short-listed as one of a handful of reporters who could capably cover this story, and I was instructed to go undercover and vet you.”  
  
Chloe pushed her door shut, sank against it. “For six months?”  
  
“Until one of the other officers called a halt to the search by declaring their candidate worthy.”  
  
Chloe blinked at him. “So someone else called off the search and you want me to throw my hat into the ring?”  
  
“I called off the search, because I think you’re perfect. And I think you’re ready.”  
  
“Ready for what?”  
  
Evan smiled, as dimpled and sweet as ever. “You believe in aliens, right?”


End file.
